


welcome wagon

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7117576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie considers completely ignoring him, but one: that’s immature, two: that makes Georgie seem like the bigger man, which he is not in anything but height and weight, lord knows and three: ignoring him is not a good longterm plan for coping.</p><p>“What?” Robbie snaps.</p><p>Okay, barking out ‘what’ is also probably not mature or nice or good strategy, but baby steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	welcome wagon

Robbie’s right: Georgie joins them in NYC. Usually Robbie would like being right, but honestly he’d have loved to find out they were sending Georgie to Hershey to kick around the A, or something. Them sending Gauthier down to Hershey was kind of an indication of how unlikely that would be, but a man can hope. 

Gauthier was…maybe not the best defenseman, but he was a good dude and the team liked him, so way to go Georgie, fucking things up for everyone. Your mother would be so fucking proud.

Honestly, Robbie can practically hear Sharon’s voice in his head, ‘there’s no shame playing in Hershey, Robbie, you earn what you have.’ Good lady, Georgie’s mom, Robbie always liked her. Pity about her eldest son.

Robbie doesn’t know if Georgie meets them at practice because of convenience or because it’s mandatory so he’s going to meet everyone in one fell swoop. Probably that one, to make shit easier. He looks…well, he looks like he usually does, so really fucking good, and Robbie hates that he notices, that he’s completely incapable of turning that shit off, that his dick is sad and confused about the lack of Georgie up on him, because his dick cares a little more about Georgie’s mouth than the fact he fucked around.

Robbie kind of wants to just pretend he’s not there — okay, let’s be real, Robbie really wants to pretend he’s not there, but that’s a no go. Robbie’s not particularly inclined to make shit easier on Georgie, showing him around, all that bullshit, and Quincy’s used to doing it, can do it all by himself, but Robbie knows that if he hangs back and doesn’t go greet Georgie people are going to know shit’s not right. 

And like, some of these guys know he sucks dick, the guys who do aren’t morons, they’re going to come to some conclusion or another, and it might be the right one. Even if it isn’t, they’re as likely as not to come to the conclusion that Georgie’s some raging homophobe or whatever and that’s why Robbie’s avoiding him. Robbie doesn’t owe Georgie shit, but, you know, maybe Robbie shouldn’t let anyone think the guy who sucked his dick for like…over a year is a homophobe, so. Walking over to Georgie, saying hello. Robbie can do that.

Honestly walking over feels like stepping on fucking glass, especially because Georgie sees him after the first couple steps and then keeps looking at him so there’s this awful fucking stare down across the room. Robbie probably shouldn’t be glowering for this. Might ruin the image. He tries a smile, and he thinks it might be worse, judging by Georgie’s face.

“Hey,” he says, when he gets within talking distance, far enough not to be within hugging distance if Georgie gets any stupid fucking ideas. “Welcome to the Caps. Or some shit.”

“Thanks,” Georgie says. “Or some shit.”

“And I think we’re going to leave the introductions to me,” Quincy says, which was kind of Robbie’s aim. He — Georgie helped him out, there, Robbie’s aware of that, and it sits wrong in him, but what’s he going to do, resent it every time? They’re going to play together, Georgie’s going to help him out all the fucking time on the ice, that’s the way it’s always worked, they help each other, they make each other better. Robbie holds down the fort so Georgie can rush without feeling like he’s fucking the goalie over, Georgie gets the goals that make their job easier. That’s something Robbie probably has to get used to again, but he doesn’t have to fucking like it.

Quincy does his glad handing thing, which — Quincy’s good fucking people, Robbie shouldn’t be resenting him for doing his goddamn job, shut the fuck up about it, Lombardi. Once Georgie’s done the circuit of the room like visiting fucking royalty, they can actually get down to shit, and obviously Robbie was expecting them to try a few drills with the few of them, but he hadn’t really thought through the fact he might have to make eye contact and shit to do so. So. Fuck.

“Hey,” Georgie says, after they massively fuck up the first one because Robbie’s…yeah the eye contact isn’t a thing he really wants to be doing, honestly. 

Robbie considers completely ignoring him, but one: that’s immature, two: that makes Georgie seem like the bigger man, which he is not in anything but height and weight, lord knows and three: ignoring him is not a good longterm plan for coping.

“What?” Robbie snaps.

Okay, barking out ‘what’ is also probably not mature or nice or good strategy, but baby steps.

“Can we just — can we try to just have hockey be hockey?” Georgie asks. “Please?”

Robbie doesn’t even have to look at him to know he’s doing that puppy dog look that gets him what he wants every fucking time. 

“Whatever,” Robbie says, but next drill, he figures he’ll try.

*

The Terriers’ season starts, and Robbie is really fucking lucky he started studying early, setting some good habits, the way he’s always been good at, hockey wise, but never bothered for in school. He thinks he would have had a mini-nervous breakdown or something otherwise, juggling the shit he has to juggle. 

Him and Georgie are splitting a room on the road, turns out, and that’ll probably be great, since they get along really well. Georgie’s stupid hot, but. Just ignore the jerk off material, you are a strong person, Robbie, you got this. Everything will be great. Except maybe if Georgie does that stupid two fingered typing thing a lot and Robbie has to kill him.

Or, you know, the fact that they win their first road game and Robbie comes back from the bar everyone’s camped at to find a sock on the door. Like. The place has fucking ‘do not disturb’ signs, and the meaning of them is pretty fucking clear — do not disturb, says it right on the sign! — so Robbie’s got to wonder if Georgie’s just showing off or something.

“A fucking _sock_ ,” Robbie says in disgust, and then goes back to the bar. 

_text me the all-clear and your paying for all the drinks I have waiting for your ass to get laid_ , Robbie texts on his way.

An hour and one drink later Georgie sends, _All Clear. Consider them paid for. *You’re_

“Fucking douchebag,” Robbie mutters, and tells Georgie he drank two.

*

“When was the last time you got laid?” Georgie asks him when they’re getting ready for breakfast the next morning. He’s been hogging the bathroom, doing whatever it is that makes his stupid face so great, and Robbie’s pointedly hovering with his toothbrush held out like a shiv, but nope, no go.

“The fuck kind of question is that at seven in the morning?” Robbie asks. “When my teeth are not brushed.”

“That’s…kind of a weird thing to focus on,” Georgie says, but budges over so that Robbie can get at the sink, so Robbie thinks it was the perfect thing to focus on.

“Seriously, though,” Georgie says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you hook up once.”

“Probably because you’re balls deep ten minutes after we get somewhere,” Robbie says. 

“Robbie,” Georgie says.

“ _Georgie_ ,” Robbie mimics. “What’s it matter? You can go slut around without everyone else doing it, you know.”

“Hey, whatever you’re into I can probably hook you up,” Georgie says. He probably could, is the thing. BU girls are all over Georgie Dineen like he’s…well like he’s going to be a fucking millionaire NHL player and he’s easy on the eyes. Robbie can’t even blame them. He bets Georgie could go ‘hey, my teammate—’ and a ton of girls would be spreading their legs just like that.

“You sound like a drug dealer,” Robbie says. “Just saying.”

“C’mon,” Georgie wheedles. “You need to hook up, dude, your balls must be purple by now.”

“Masturbation is my friend,” Robbie says blandly, and laughs when Georgie makes a face at him.

“I know this girl,” Georgie says. “She’s basically up for anything.”

“Unless she’s got a dick I’m probably not interested,” Robbie says, trying for casual and landing way off the mark. Better to rip the band-aid off early than risk Georgie finding out and feeling all betrayed Robbie hid it for so long. That’d probably be bad. This might be too, but Robbie’s hedging his bets, here, and Georgie’s sharing a room with him, hanging out with him in non-team contexts, and doesn’t seem stupid. Probably best to get it over with.

Georgie smiles like he thinks Robbie’s about to come up with some punchline. He’s stupid good looking, and it’s way worse when he smiles. He knows it, too. Fucker. “No homo?” Georgie asks, when Robbie doesn’t say anything else.

“Totally homo, dude, sorry,” Robbie says. “Please step back three feet so you don’t catch the homo. And so I can brush my teeth.”

“Eh, I’ve had more homo,” Georgie says.

Robbie raises an eyebrow.

“What happens at Development Camp stays at Development Camp,” Georgie says, raising his eyebrows, and grins when Robbie barks out a laugh.

“Fuck off and let me brush my teeth,” Robbie says, and Georgie, thankfully, leaves the bathroom.

The thing is, Georgie was probably kidding, like. Trying to make Robbie feel less weird or something. He’s a nice dude, when it comes down to it.

Robbie still thinks very hard about what might or might not have happened in development camp in bed that night. 

So much homo, there.

*

A couple days later Georgie comes by a few hours before they’re supposed to go out to a club with some of the guys on the team. The place cards a little more strictly than some of the other places they’ve been, apparently, but Robbie’s got a good Nova Scotia fake and has known enough Canadians to sell it if he’s called on it (note: don’t say fucking eh), and Robbie hasn’t seen Georgie get carded once yet. Being a giant seems to help with that.

“What’s in the bag?” Robbie asks. Georgie’s got a backpack slung over one shoulder. Robbie does that, he probably looks like a high schooler on a field trip or something, but Georgie manages to make it look okay.

“Pre-drinks,” Georgie says. “Vodka, and like three types of juice, I didn’t know which you’d want.”

“Nice,” Robbie says. “Give me like…twenty to finish this problem set, though?”

“Yeah, no worries,” Georgie says. He pours himself a drink in one of the cheap plastic cups Robbie has hanging around, takes over Robbie’s bed, pulling his phone out.

“I could probably find you a dude,” Georgie says fifteen minutes later.

Robbie looks over, sharp, but Georgie’s not even looking up from his phone. “What’s your type?” he asks.

 _Tall, handsome, and currently in my fucking bed_ , Robbie thankfully doesn’t say. “I don’t know,” he says, instead. “Whatever. Quit trying to hook me up.”

“I’m just trying to keep my partner in good sexual health,” Georgie says, sounding very serious, then snickers when Robbie lobs a pen at him. “You heard of grindr?”

“I’m not using fucking grindr,” Robbie says. 

“Why not?” Georgie asks, finally looking over at him. “We go somewhere for a game, you hook up, I’ll cover for you and no one knows. Easy.”

“I like a little romancing first,” Robbie says. He raises his eyebrows to punctuate it, gets a laugh from Georgie, but he kind of does. He’s not Georgie, he’s not interested in falling in bed with a new person every weekend, it seems kind of sleazy. Like, Robbie isn’t judging Georgie for it, he’s hot enough to land someone new every time? More power to him. Robbie just doesn’t think he could do the same, both like…the landing part and the feeling okay about that.

“Vodka’s romantic,” Georgie says pointedly.

“Okay, okay, you’re so needy,” Robbie says. “I don’t think I have a clean glass, though.”

“We can share,” Georgie says. “You cool with cranberry?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Robbie says. “Shove over, though.”

Georgie sits up so Robbie can sit on the bed beside him, hands over the vodka cranberry.

“I thought this was a chick drink,” Robbie says.

“Whatever, it tastes good,” Georgie says. “No one’s here to judge.”

“I’m judging,” Robbie says.

“You’re also drinking it,” Georgie points out, which. Fair.

They’re both pretty well on their way to drunk by the time they head out, which is good for Robbie’s wallet and makes the walk nice with the buzz he’s got going on. It’s a nice night too, the kind of nice night that means everyone better start looking over their shoulder for the freak snowstorm Boston’s going to wallop them with for daring to think that fall might stick around this year.

Honestly, Robbie doesn’t particularly want to go to the club, would rather keep wandering, maybe duck into McDonald's and eat shitty fast food and feel great about it until he feels terrible about it, but he’s starting to think Georgie’s got the only case in the world where blue balls might kill him the way he plows through — and just plows, good pun, Robbie — chicks, so they’ll head there and Robbie will socialize with whatever teammates inevitably invited Georgie, and watch Georgie basically fuck someone on the dance floor. Good times. 

“What’s up?” Georgie says.

“What’s up with you asking me what’s up?” Robbie asks, and grins when Georgie rolls his eyes at him.

“You’re quiet,” Georgie says.

“I can be quiet,” Robbie says. 

“That’s a fucking lie, dude,” Georgie says. “Unless you have a textbook in front of your face.”

Robbie shrugs. “Not really feeling it,” he says, then, “I want a Big Mac.”

“Deep thoughts in your head,” Georgie says. “Not feeling it how, drinks hit you bad?”

“Nah, I feel fine,” Robbie says. “But dunno. Lazy.”

“The McDonald’s on Mass Ave’s probably still open,” Georgie says.

“Nah, don’t humor my bullshit, you’ve got a date to finger a girl in public or whatever,” Robbie says.

“Fuck off,” Georgie says. “You’d be less bitter if you were getting laid, Roberto.”

“Don’t call me Roberto,” Robbie says. “And I’m not bitter.”

“Uh huh,” Georgie says. “Let’s go get you a Big Mac, little ball of hate.”

“I’m not little,” Robbie mutters, and scowls deeper when Georgie throws an arm around his shoulder, wordlessly showing off the five inches he has on Robbie.

“I want two Big Macs,” Robbie decides.

“Okay, babe,” Georgie says, and Robbie’s glad it’s dark enough that Georgie can’t see him go red.


End file.
